


Out of Time

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: M/M, Mike just wants the best for everyone and he is always shat on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike had wanted to support Chester through his work with Stone Temple Pilots, but now he mostly wants to strangle him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Time

**Author's Note:**

> liberate the hate you feel before it’s permanent

Mike had wanted to be eloquent, he spent most of the flight to Japan thinking of what to say in his head. He had hoped to have a quiet word with Chester on the plane about it, but he had gone to the bar the second the plane stopped ascending and levelled out and he had never returned. It’s no secret that Chester hates flying and loves alcohol, so the two things go hand in hand.

Putting down his sketchbook he got up and stretched. He tried the words again in his head but they didn’t sound right – the voice in his head is never the same as his own, and he wonders who it is. He headed to the airplane bathroom to practice it in front of the mirror and found Chester on his knees with Brad’s dick in his mouth. All three of them looked at each other surprised before Mike quietly closed the door and walked back to his seat.

Ten minutes passed before Chester returned to his seat and, by then, all of the eloquent words had gone from his head like dust blown from an old hardback book. He scrambled to gather his thoughts from the air around him but all he ended up doing was blinking back angry tears, saying “Stone Temple Pilots will ditch you as soon as things go quiet with Scott, you know that right? And Brad, he’ll ditch you as soon as the plane lands.”

That’s not what he had wanted to say. Chester opened his mouth. Maybe to apologise, who the fuck knows? “Get out of my fucking sight,” Mike said and, when Chester didn’t, he climbed over him gracelessly and went to the bar to drink himself into alcohol poisoning.

At the hotel he took his key from the receptionist gratefully and headed straight for the elevator, not looking back at the others. He could feel eyes burning into the back of his head as he waited for the car to arrive and when it did he stepped into it without turning around, the doors closing behind him. In the privacy of his room the words he had meant to say on the plane came easily.

“I support every single decision you make,” he told the empty room, “But please be careful, because they all know how their actions will hurt Scott and I don’t want you to get hurt from all of this.” The mini-bar hummed quietly under the TV. “I love you,” Mike told the empty room, and then the tears came again.

More than once during their backstage warm up Chester tried to speak to him but the shots Mike had done in the hotel bar after breakfast made it easy to be confident and ignore him.

“Please, Mike, I can explain.”

“Oh, Chester. Would you just go fuck yourself. Or Brad. I do not care.” That wasn’t strictly true. He did care, very much so, and the last thing he wanted to happen was for Chester to even breath the same air as Brad. He wanted them on different sides of the world to each other, he wanted them on different planets. Most of all, though, he wanted Brad to at least look like he was sorry. He slipped out to find a bar and spent most of the day there, sinking beer after beer from plastic cups, only leaving when it became hard to stand up and he felt the warmth from his stomach making his limbs soft.

The show went okay, considering they played for mostly diehard Metallica fans and that Mike could hardly string a sentence together. He had prepared something to say in Japanese but the paper swam with words in front of him and he stuffed it in his pocket, letting Chester introduce the next song for him. After the set finished Rob grabbed his wrist and dragged him to one of the loading bays, away from the eyes and ears of the rest of the band. His hand was hot and dusty with gymnasts’ chalk.

“You’re drunk,” he said.

Mike giggled.

“You’re plastered. Jesus, Mike, it was obvious through the whole set. What is going on?”

Mike pulled his wrist from Rob’s grip. “Who gives a shit?” he giggled.

Rob placed his hands on Mike’s shoulder and shook him. “Everyone gives a shit. You’re the only one who doesn’t, apparently.”

“Get the fuck off me,” Mike slurred, trying to push Rob away from him. He hit him in the chest and it was like hitting a wall, his weight pushing him backwards until he fell to the ground on his ass.

“Mike,” Rob sighed, crouching down beside him. “What’s going on, huh? I’m worried about you.”

“How long have they been fooling around? Did everyone know?”

Rob looked away and hesitated for long enough for the silence to be an answer itself. “I didn’t know. Joe told me he had his suspicions. Nobody knew for sure."

"Why did nobody speak to me about it? Why didn't you stop it?" Mike felt the tears coming and was unable to stop them. He swiped at his cheeks with the back of his dusty hand, smearing dirt across his face.

Rob didn't say anything, but he wiped the dusty tears from Mike's cheeks with his thumbs and that was enough. Sitting down on the ground Rob pulled him into his arms and held him close as he cried.

Their flight home the next day was late, which gave Mike plenty time to sleep most of his hangover off and treat the remainder with the hair of the dog that bit him - namely beer. When it came time to get in the cars to the airport Mike climbed into the one with Rob and Joe, not even looking up. Dave didn't say anything, just climbed wordlessly into the car with Chester and Brad. Mike hoped their journey was as pleasant as licking a nettle.

"What's our flight number?" Mike asked.

Joe pegged his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "JAL42. Would you like a mint? You smell like the floor of a bar."

After checking in at the airport Mike shouldered his backpack and peeled away from the others. He was halfway to security when Brad caught up to him.

"Can I talk to you?" He asked.

"No," Mike said, making no move to leave.

"It was a mistake."

"If you're trying to explain yourself you're going to have to do better than that, Brad. How was it a mistake? Did your dick just fall into his open mouth?" Mike heard his voice getting louder, made an effort to lower it. "Our friendship and my relationship obviously don't mean as much to you as I had thought they did, so that's my problem I guess. Just tell me one thing, how long has it been going on?"

Brad shifts his backpack from one shoulder to the other. "Six weeks, maybe more. I didn't keep track, I don't remember when it started."

"Really? I remember meeting Chester off his flight from Arizona and I held out my hand from him to shake and he hugged me instead. I remember our first kiss the day we got signed, he said he'd been waiting a long time to do that. I remember every detail of our first date, because I love him. Does he know how little he means to you? Huh? I'm sure he'd be flattered."

Mike turned and walked away. Security was the only delay to his scheduled drinking time, and he found his way into the bar with two hours to spare before the flight. The drinks in the airport were more expensive than the festival, but they're also stronger and he bought a shot with every other one. The memory of his first kiss with Chester burned like the absinthe all the way through his body. Flashes of Brad's face slack with pleasure as Chester sucked him off blind him. He wished he was dead.

He lost track of time somewhere amongst the beer bottles. And then he realised he wasn't listening to Joe when he told him the flight number. His cellphone battery had died from trawling through photos from their recent shows for evidence of Brad and Chester's affair. He found himself questioning every photograph, every look and gesture.

He wished for Chester. He wanted to be held and carried to the plane. But, most of all, he wanted to go home. And then he remembered the home he would be heading to was the one he shared with Chester, and he had to wonder if Brad had ever been in their bed. Feeling sick and dizzy he got to his feet, stumbling through the bar and out into the bustling departures area. All around him people hurried from store to store with their bags and their passports and their judgemental stares.

Mike looked up at the screen and the letters swam. He could hear his name being called on the tannoy in broken English and he headed in the direction of the sound. He needed his passport, he knew that, but what had he done with his backpack? He staggered toward a bench to sit down, his stomach lurching.

"Mike?"

That's him.

"Mike. Hey, Mike." Someone sat down beside him, a warm hand on his back through his t-shirt. "Hey, you okay? We're all waiting for you."

"Dave?"

Dave smiled. "Yeah. You look worse for wear, my man. I found your bag in the bar, I think they were about to call the bomb squad."

"He cheated on me," Mike slurred.

"I know he did. I can't fucking believe it, to be honest. But it's gonna be okay. "

Dave helped him to his feet, leading him to the terminal. "Is it going to be okay?"

"Of course it is. No need to kill off your liver because of it."

And Mike found himself laughing, despite it all. On the plane his seat was beside Chester and he couldn't bring himself to move elsewhere. He collapsed into it, stomach churning, and Chester reached out with a hand that had probably been down Brad's pants to stroke the inside of his wrist the way he always did.

"Don't," Mike mumbled, trying to snatch his hand away but it is full of lead.

"I'm sorry," Chester said, his hand falling into his lap. "I love you."

"Yeah," Mike said, "whatever."


End file.
